


If You're Going to Haunt Me, Be a Little Louder

by Siamese_and_Cookies



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Explicit Language, F/M, Some comfort, some hurt, sort of romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:14:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24758371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siamese_and_Cookies/pseuds/Siamese_and_Cookies
Summary: John Seed has died.But he can't even die in peace. No, he's stuck lingering on because his wrath is keeping him from dying. And the only way he'll find peace in death is if he can drag the one person who killed him kicking and screaming with him.Too bad everyone else in the County is out for her blood too.
Relationships: Female Deputy | Judge/John Seed
Comments: 5
Kudos: 71





	If You're Going to Haunt Me, Be a Little Louder

**Author's Note:**

> This came to me when I was watching the movie "Ghost" and I wrote this in a mad dash far past my bed time and I'm not even upset about it. Also, this was supposed to be a short one-shot, _not_ this monstrosity. But here we go.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy! 
> 
> (Believable romance is really hard when it's mostly one-sided)

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that John Seed was dying.

Of course he was dying. Joseph kept saying that he would.

His plane, his beautiful Affirmation, lay in a burning heap off to the side, the crackling embers a final, sad, mournful goodbye. The sign, _his Sign_ , was in ruins. What else did John have that the Deputy hadn’t taken away? His life? Soon that would be gone too.

His body was made of lead. As he lay there on the forest floor - his bones cracked, his ribs broken, his lungs punctured so air became difficult to pass and frothered red and wet in the corners of his mouth - John wondered what he had done to deserve this.

Cleansing the Flock - that was all for Joseph. John had just been following orders. Playing the part. Maybe he had been harsher than he had needed to be. Cut too hard, branded too long, enjoyed the suffering just a _little_ too much - but he was just giving back what life had given him.

That was what you were supposed to do anyway, wasn’t it? Sharking is caring? If you were given something, you should also give it to others? And John had been given so much pain, so much _Wrath_ \- it was only fair that he shared it with others.

Sounds and sights were muted and blurry. But he could hear the slow, unsteady gait. Felt the vibrations in the earth as she drew closer. The crunching of the dried twigs and leaves. The hazy outline of the Deputy came into focus.

Her face was a splotchy mess, caking with dirt and mud and blood, her hair was an absolute mess - bits of leaves poking out like she’d gone rummaging in a bush.

She fell to her knees beside him, breathing harsh.

John tried to speak. A choked, wet wheeze escaped him. Breathing was getting so hard. He was drowning in his own blood.

But he wanted to tell the Deputy how much he hated her. Because he did. He hated her far more than he ever thought was possible. With every Silo she had destroyed, every Outpost she had taken, every wayward soul she led further astray from Joseph’s Path - his hatred for her grew and grew and grew and festered and boiled until it became a hideous, ugly mess inside him - red hot and obsessive.

And as he lay there, dying, he was overcome with the urge to let the Deputy know that he hated her.

Really.

Truly.

Madly.

Deeply.

 _Hated_ her.

She reached her hand forward and gingerly picked the key up from around his neck. Something hot and wet dripped onto John’s face as she hunched closer. A strange noise escaped her.

John gathered the last dredges of his strength and grabbed hold of her arm. She turned to face him, but already the darkness was closing in and he couldn’t make out her features. Even though John knew it was over, his body didn’t want to give up. He was panicking as his lungs stopped and spasmed, as he struggled.

He had to get it out - now or never.

He opened his mouth. And coughed. Blood flecked onto her face. Her eyes were white circles of horror. The strength left him and his body fell into darkness.

The last thing he heard was the soft, final snap of the string that held the key around his neck.

And then nothing.

**~ * ~**

John trailed after the Deputy like a brainless sheep.

The sun was shining so beautifully down on his Valley as he watched her limp towards an abandoned truck. She settled into the driver’s seat and sat there for a moment. Sweat had cleaned some of the mud near her eyes and she looked physically drained. Her leg was probably injured. John hoped it hurt.

She took a deep breath in and turned the radio on.

_”John was not perfect.”_

John and the Deputy froze.

_”In fact, sometimes he wasn’t even good.”_

John remained where he was. He knew Joseph had problems with him, John knew that _he_ had problems too. But he had thought - had _hoped_ that maybe that didn’t matter. That maybe Joseph could look past it all, considering what John had and would have done for him.

The Deputy turned off the radio, unable to hear any more. She pressed down on the accelerator and went off towards Fall’s End. 

Lost, John followed after her on foot.

**~ * ~**

“Is this really what you spend all your time doing?” John scoffed, crossing his arms and watching as the Deputy carefully reeled in a rainbow trout, "Fishing?"'

“I’ll be honest, I didn’t think you spent the _entire_ time plotting to thwart my every move, but couldn’t you have a _better_ past-time? Fishing is for old people and people with far too much time on their hands. _You_ , my darling Deputy, fall into neither category. I think I’d prefer you sitting in some dark, dank room plotting and scheming over _this_.”

The Deputy continued to fish, an easy smile on her face as she got another rainbow trout. Her ice box was almost full. She’d probably go to another fishing location and drain that of its fish before going to _another_ one and draining _that_ and then she’d hunt down a travelling merchant and sell her hoard of fish for far too much money. John knew because he was there for each and every trip. And she took a lot of them over the span of a month.

“Deputy!” He whined, “Enough already! Is your end goal to drain the entire lake?”

He hated being ignored. But it was kind of difficult to get an answer from somehow who couldn’t actually _hear_ you. John shouldn’t have blamed the Deputy, but he was going to. Because of her he was dead and in this mess in the first place.

John let out a dragged out groan and kicked at a pebble. His foot passed right through. The more he practiced, the better he got at interacting with the corporal world. 

It had been a nightmare in the start when he’d keep slipping through stairs or found himself unable to climb up foundations for cabins.

He was glad no one could hear him scream the first time he fell through and came face-to-face with a nest of centipedes, all clicking and clacking in the wood rot underneath the derelict cabin the Deputy _insisted_ on using as a hideaway for the night.

But that had been a while back and John could now navigate staircases and even moving vehicles with ease. His focus was now on physical objects so he could stab the Deputy in the back with her own throwing knife as revenge.

Oh yes, John had a lot of time on his hands since he was unjustly murdered to plan everything out. 

He tried to kick the pebble again. His foot passed right through, again. It was a work in progress, but John had all the time in the world.

“Do you know how mind numbing it is to watch you sit there and fish? At least when you hunt I can spook the animals. The fish are so stupid they don’t get scared. Even when you’re fighting my people it’s more entertaining than this.”

The Deputy let out a sound of delight - halfway between a gasp and a laugh - when she reeled in a particularly large large trout. It was the size and heft that would win County prize, in fact. The Deputy grinned to herself and lugged the fish over and into her ice box before closing it up. 

Looked like it was time to move again.

The Deputy piled her ice box in the back of her plane - _John’s_ plane - and set about packing everything else away.

John had screamed himself hoarse when he found out that the Deputy was getting _Nick Rye_ to rebuild his aircraft. The bastard had been puzzled over why the Deputy had wanted it made again as well, but he still went ahead and did it. Faithless wretch.

John had tried so hard to throw Nick Rye’s toolkit away. But it was in the early days and he could barely manage staircases. So while his protests fell on deaf ears, the Deputy and Nick Rye rebuilt his craft. She even painted it the same. Down to the cult crosses on each wing.

He had initially thought it had been to mock him - _mock them_.

But months after his demise at her hand, he came to realise just how much she loved the aircraft. And John couldn’t blame her. There was a reason he chose the Affirmation. It was a resilient, reliant, proud bird that only ever let him down once - fatally.

It was leaps and bounds better than the scrap heap “Pack Hunter” Jacob had nestled away in that airstrip of his. He had seen footage of the Deputy fly it a few times. She was skilled, he’d give her that, but no amount of skill would get that mess to fly gracefully. It was a miracle it had been able to lift off the ground at all.

Once the Deputy’s things were carefully sequestered away in all the available space and John had settled into the back seat, she flicked all the right switches, pushed all the right buttons, and gently got his bird into the sky. 

John loathed the Deputy with every fiber of his being, he did. But that didn’t make him a liar.

And as the Deputy sailed at a moderate altitude above the County, he begrudgingly accepted that she was a spectacular pilot.

**~ * ~**

John kicked at a crate.

The Deputy leapt in her skin, turning sharply towards the crate that had moved seemingly by itself. Her pistol drawn and aimed down, index finger resting parallel to the trigger in perfect discipline, she inched towards it.

John, meanwhile, was almost dancing with delight.

He’d done it! It took months but he could finally, _finally_ start to move things by himself! It had taken a lot of concentration and the crate didn’t even move that much, but it was _progress_! Soon he’d be able to hold objects and then he could get his revenge.

The Deputy lowered her gun when she inspected the crate and it - and the rest of the cabin - came up empty. She looked confused as she stared at it, rubbing at her cheek.

“Get it together, Rook, it’s just your imagination. Shit, I need sleep.”

The Deputy holstered her gun and went back to the map she had spread across the floor of the “borrowed” cabin. John had calmed enough to settle on the dusty floor next to her and peered over her shoulder.

The Deputy was trying to pinpoint where Faith’s bunker was. Had been muttering to herself as she was wont to about how she needed to rescue the Marshal and Deputy Pratt. John had laughed the first time he learnt of her plan. Did she _really_ think she’d be able to rescue both of them herself? She was far dumber than John had originally believed, that was for sure.

But he was also intrigued how she’d pull off this one-woman heist. Did she believe she could prison-break the Marshal when Faith was more meticulous about protecting her bunker than John or Jacob combined? How she had flooded the entire thing with so much Bliss even gas masks didn’t work and the only way you could move around was if you were a brain-dead Angel? There was a reason none of the brothers ever visited her bunker - why Joseph let her do whatever she wished - and maybe that was exactly why Faith had designed it that way.

John leaned with his back against the couch and watched the Deputy murmur softly to herself, penning certain locations and routes onto her map and noting down details in a beaten police notepad by her side. She had set her hair so none of it was in her face and her face was unobstructed. John could see her deep-set expression of concentration perfectly.

The downward tilt of her brow, the hard, narrow crease of her eyes, the firm line of her mouth. The more time John spent around her, the more he saw her interact with people and deal with the world around her, the more he realised she wasn’t as two-dimensional as he liked to believe. She had the world’s dullest past times, seemed to think Sharky Boshaw was a comedian and had a soft spot for incredibly dangerous, incredibly wild animals. 

It hit John very suddenly that if she went to Faith’s Bunker alone, it would be suicide. 

The Deputy could be as skilled at mass murder and mayhem as she liked, if she went through with her hair brained scheme, there was a very good chance that she would die. And it wouldn’t be by John’s hand.

No. No, he couldn’t have that. The idea of her dying sat uncomfortably in his stomach. He was the _only_ one allowed to kill her. 

And so while she planned her suicide run, John planned how he was going to thwart it. Especially with his newest advancements in interacting with the corporal world.

**~ * ~**

“I dunno, Dep, you seem different these days. These few months even.”

The Deputy and John both looked up from the shotgun on display. The three of them - well, four, because Nick Rye (the spineless prick) was there too, flying his heap of scrap metal in low circles above the town - had gone to Fall’s End for a spot of shopping. Sharky needed fuel and ammo, The Deputy needed a new change of clothes and she wanted to see if she finally had enough money to afford a sniper rifle that had caught her eye a week back. 

“Different?” She asked, “Different how?”

“Like I said, I dunno. But it’s sorta like you’re bigger? Than before?”

The Deputy blinked slowly, a smile creeping across her face, “Are you calling me fat, Sharky?”

“What? No! No, I’m not! But like, even if I _was_ , it would be in a completely non-derogatory way cause like, fat-shaming is just so not cool and I dunno why people just can’t leave each other alone and-”

John rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically for no one’s benefit but his own. When Boshaw went on one of his tangents, he _went_. Even the Deputy’s eyes seemed to glaze over before she turned back to the guns on display, humming occasionally when there was a need, but otherwise focusing on the price tags of each and every item.

The Deputy had a bit of a vanity streak. John had learnt that, whether she got a new gun or a car, she had to get some funky colour for it as well. Which normally cost extra money she often couldn’t spare but did. The Resistance didn’t even cut any corners - they charged her full price for everything. Even the paint jobs.

Rook was a thorn in his Family’s side, but as the symbol of the Resistance, as their literal hope considering how much she had managed to do in the short year she had been there, one would think she’d get some sort of hero’s discount. It seemed not.

Greedy fiends.

But, the Deputy had a good eye for colours, John would give her that. He had seen some of her vehicles, stashed all around the County, and none of them were your stock colours. One of her lorries was yellow - but a burnt yellow that somehow actually worked fairly well. If John hadn’t been so inclined towards blue himself, he would almost have considered it.

Though he had made his appreciation known with a solid thump to the side of one of her newer cars. It had startled the Deputy and almost scared the vendor into having a heart attack.

“ _Anyway,_ ,” Sharky said eventually, “When I said bigger I meant larger than life. Like, you’re standing taller and you seem stronger and sorta invincible? I don’t know. Probably shouldn’t have said anything.”

Rook considered that, tapping her gloved fingers on the counter glass. 

“I mean,” she murmured a moment later, “I mean I don’t _feel_ taller or stronger and I’m definitely not invincible. But I haven’t had a bullet hit me for a few weeks now.” The Deputy laughed, “Maybe this is what I’m like when I have all my blood _in_ my body.”

John preened at the sort of indirect praise. _He_ was the reason she hadn’t gotten a single bullet in her. It was surprisingly difficult, seeing how much she enjoyed acting as a sandbag eager to absorb bullets. But John played a very active role in ensuring none of them hit her.

Any one of those bullets could spell her end - they might hit an important organ or blood vessel or both and then all of John’s preparations would be for nought. So even if it meant thwarting his _own_ side, he would do whatever he had to.

Joseph always preached about patience and perseverance bearing the sweetest fruits. And what a sweet fruit it would be to have the Deputy at his mercy. 

“Yeah, I noticed that too. Hey, maybe your guardian angel got upgraded. The last one was kinda shit at its job. There were _way_ too many near misses, man. Way too many.”

“I don’t think you’d call me an angel if you know who I was. As stupid as it sounds, I’m probably more akin to a guardian devil.” John paused. And cringed. “Yeah, no, that’s so dumb. Thank God neither of you can hear me. It sounded like the nonsense that regularly comes out of Boshaw’s mouth.”

The Deputy laughed, “Maybe. Well, regardless.” 

She moved until she was almost chest-to-chest with John. Who stumbled back a step, wondering for a moment if she could see him and had just been faking it up until now. And because he had moved back a bit, the Deputy was almost looking into his eyes. He froze, eyes wide as saucers as she smiled at him.

“Thanks, new guardian angel. Keep up the good work I guess.”

She turned back to the display case.

“You’re welcome, Rook,” John murmured under his breath, shaken to his core.

**~ * ~**

_”Oh John, bold and brave. He’s finding us a family, he’s teaching us the faith.”_

“Your singing is awful. I hope you know that.” John called from the back seat of Pygmalion.

He was sprawled across the seats, uncomfortable and tight, one arm supporting his head, the other arm thrown over his eyes to block out the sunlight that streamed through the back window. Rook had decided to not mention _where_ they were going (not that she ever told _him_ anything), just that she had some place she wanted to “check out”.

Grace Armstrong was in the front, a mildly amused expression on her face as Rook continued to sing along off-key to the cult music. Nick Rye - the spineless son-of-a-bitch - was flying overhead as he normally did, interspersing Rook’s singing with his awful dad jokes and unwanted commentary.

God, to think John actually thought he was _funny_. It didn’t matter that he had snorted once or twice at a particularly awful joke. That was a pity laugh - a _pity_ laugh that absolutely no one could hear anyway so it didn’t count.

“We ever gonna hear anything other than Peggie bullshit?” Grace asked once the song ended and there was a short interlude before the next one.

“Nope.”

“You know, if other people saw how religiously you sing along to them, they’d have a problem.”

Rook just smiled, tapping her finger on the steering wheel as the next some began.

“Good thing you aren’t other people. Shh, I love this one.”

“You love _all_ of them,” Grace said with no heat.

John hadn’t even known Rook _listened_ to the music. Or that she knew the lyrics to _all_ of them. _Faith_ didn’t even know all the lyrics and she liked to pretend she was Joseph’s perfect little doll - infallible and hopelessly loyal. 

Saturday night family dinners had become nauseating when she’d joined. At least Selena didn’t put on some ridiculous show, and the one before her was even better - quiet, more subdued. Didn’t have grand ideas above her station.

_”See the non-believers by the path.”_

Grace Armstrong groaned out in frustration, “Oh, not this one again!”

John agreed.

He personally hated Jacob’s song. Almost as much as his own. He had been so embarrassed when they had unveiled it. And the artists had been so proud too - that somehow made it even worse. Faith, of course, had the nicest song of them all - damn her, and the previous ones.

“Do you think I could sabotage the radio?” John asked no one, “Maybe ghosts are good with electrical machinery. Movies have always been pretty iffy about it. If I am, I am going to destroy this radio - and all the radios in this damned County - so we won’t have to hear any of this ever again. 

_”Jacob’s gonna come and set those sinners free.”_

“You’d better hope not,” Grace commented wryly, “Cause _we_ are those sinners, Rook. You do know that, right?”

“I know, I know, just let me sing, jeez.”

And as Rook belted out cult melody after cult melody, they crossed the Valley into the Henbane River and then towards an old Radon Mine. John had sat up by that time, confused as to what Rook was doing and where she was headed.

“Wait, why are we here?” Grace asked. Rook put the car in park and raised the hand break. They were set just in front of a tent and some scaffolding.

“Because I heard there was some famous movie director here and I had to check it out.”

“Oh. Oh no, no, I wouldn’t suggest that, Rook. He’s a total pain in the ass,” John said, phasing through the back of the car and standing next to it. “We asked if he wanted to join our cult - er, _Family_ and he was a complete wet blanket about it. He should be glad it was only Faith - the previous one - who went to talk to him. Jacob would have strung him up like a hog and let him bleed.”

Rook ignored him, as she always did and went off. An hour later, she stomped right back towards his car and sat inside, throwing her travel bag into the back.

“He was a self-obsessed, narcissistic _ass_!” She screeched, smacking her hands against the steerwheel.

Grace settled in with - well - more grace and buckled herself in.

“Told you,” John sang as he pushed her bag to the floor and made himself comfortable in the back again.

Grace clapped Rook on the shoulder in what John assumed was an attempt at ‘comfort’, “Most people like him are. Think they can run the world just because they make a bit of money.”

“Such an asshole,” Rook grumbled under her breath, keying the car into life and driving away in a plum of dust and smoke, John’s laughter going unheard.

**~ * ~**

“Keep moving, Rook!” John yelled.

She fell to the floor, panting hard.

Jacob’s Chosen were getting closer and her wounds weren’t doing her any favours.

“Get up,” he hissed at her, throwing himself to his knees beside her. 

Blood bloomed on her side where an arrow had streaked past, taking skin and cloth with it. That alone shouldn’t have hindered her too much, but Rook was already sporting injuries from a previous fight and she was nearing the end of her rope.

“Get up or they’re going to kill you!”

Her eyes were hazy, wavering, as sweat dripped down her forehead in steady rivulets. Her mouth was open, breath harsh and ragged from exhaustion.

The Chosen were almost upon them, the snarls of their Judges sending a child down John’s spine.

No, no, no, no, no - Rook couldn’t die _here_!

John turned away from her and began to search for anything that could help him buy Rook even a sliver of time. Just enough so that she could catch her breath and get back to running.

She was strong, she only needed a little bit of help.

With a sinking feeling, John came to the realisation that there wasn’t much in the way of weapons on the Whitetail Mountains. Just branches and rocks and venomous snakes and - wait.

John pressed his hearing until he found that rattling hiss. He got to his feet and headed towards it. A snake, large and yellow and eager to bite someone, lay curled in a heap a few feet away from Rook. It bore its fangs and hissed at John, tail rattling madly in a bid to scare him off.

If he was still alive, John would have been worried. Seeing as he was dead and couldn’t get _more_ dead, he wasn’t.

He was getting better at picking things up. He wasn’t where he wanted to be yet, it was difficult to keep things held for too long, but he was managing. This snake would be a challenge, but John didn’t have much of a choice. Throwing stones at them wasn’t going to do much - Jacob had trained his men better than Faith or John had and flying stones wouldn’t scare them away like they would most others.

The snake hissed again and pretended to strike him. Not that it would do any harm to John. But snakes weren’t particularly bright creatures, so John didn’t hold it against the beast.

The Chosen had arrived. He heard the familiar whine of a bow string stretching.

John grabbed the snake. It spat and wriggled. He turned and threw it as hard as he could at the nearest hooded Chosen. The snake sailed through the air and landed straight on the man’s red hood. He screamed.

His arrow shot and struck a nearby tree, Bliss dripping a murky green from the tip.

John didn’t stop there. Using every ounce of focus, he grabbed at rocks and lobbed them at the remaining Chosen, the Judges barking and growling while the men screamed and the snake bit and wriggled and wrangled and the chaos continued.

With Jacob’s men sufficiently distracted, he hurried to Rook’s side, who was staring at the events in mute horror. Well, if she could emote, she could move.

“Get up already!” John yelled at her, trying to push at her back.

His hand passed through her and he immediately felt violated. He gagged and pulled back. It seemed he had reached a particular limit, the rest was left to Rook.

“Rook,” panic crept into his voice, “Don’t just sit there, move!

She stayed rooted to the spot. The upright Chosen grabbed at the snake and tried to yank it off of his friend. His friend who was horizontal on the floor, gasping for breath as the venom coursed through him.

“ _Please_!”

Rook got to her feet slowly, unsteadily, slid her throwing knife out of its holster and aimed. The knife let out a dull, sick _thunk_ as it embedded deeply into the upright Chosen’s eye. He let out an aborted, wet sound and crumpled. The snake bit him once for good measure and quickly retreated away - thoroughly harassed.

Rook ran. John right behind her.

“Those mutts won’t be distracted for long, keep moving!”

Even though John _knew_ she couldn’t hear him, he knew it didn’t matter if he spoke or not, somehow he felt like she could understand him. She didn’t, but as they ran at a breakneck speed down the mountain side, it was about the only thing keeping him going.

Rook’s feet began to drag, the adrenaline was wearing off and the exhaustion and blood-loss was creeping back in. But there was a cabin up ahead that she could use as safety. Rook just had to push a bit longer. John kept telling her so. Told her as her speed dropped and her movements became sluggish and she began to teeter too far onto one side.

John couldn’t hear the Judges, couldn’t see them through the dense vegetation of the forest behind them, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there - hungry for blood.

Rook fell into the clearing of the cabin, landing hard on her hands and knees. Her face was ashen, her muscles shook and she looked about ready to throw up. Did throw up.

Still shaking, and with a strangled sound, she forced herself back to her feet and continued the last few meters. Rook burst through the doors and collapsed face forward onto the wooden floor. John didn’t think twice as he closed the door behind her and slammed the locks into place.

Rook wasn’t lucid, her eyelids fluttered shut and her breathing slowed as she grew unconscious. John paced beside her, unable to hold her wrist and check her pulse. The only indication he had that she was even alive was the gentle rise and fall of her chest. He wanted to move her onto the sofa but knew he didn’t have the strength for it, not yet.

Instead he settled down onto the floor next to her and watched.

The exhilaration began to dissipate and John was left with the cold reality that he couldn’t let Rook die.

And it wasn’t for any of the stupid exuses he made up to placate himself. 

When he had that snake in his hands, he could have very well tossed it Rook’s way. She was down, she was weak, it would have only taken one bite. And it was poetic too - John couldn’t even pretend it wasn’t that. But he didn’t.

He wasn’t sure why not.

It wasn’t love - this _thing_ he felt for her. John had been told often enough that he wasn’t capable of it. That he wasn’t _good_ enough for it. Joseph had said the same, in his eulogy for John - that he wasn’t even a _good man_. And love was a _good_ thing. So now, it wasn’t love. But it was something.

Something that turned his stomach hollow and made a cold hand sweep down his back at the mere thought. 

John had just spent too much time and energy keeping her alive, he couldn’t waste it. Yes, that was it. He just didn’t want to waste his investment.

It sounded flimsy even to himself.

And when Rook let out a soft groan and began to stir and his heart _leapt_ with joy, John knew that was utter nonsense. 

But it didn’t matter _why_ he had to keep her alive. He just had to. 

And so long as Rook stayed alive, he could keep making excuses to himself.

**~ * ~**

“I don’t think an apology would suffice, considering everything.”

“No,” Faith said as they watched the Deputy kneel down by the riverbank, watching Faith’s body float away, “I don’t think it would.”

“Would it help if I said you really were Joseph’s favourite?”

“We both know that isn’t true.”

“No,” John agreed, glancing over at Rook to look closer at her blank expression, worried suddenly, why she wasn’t moving, “No, it isn’t. But - uh, I don’t know, maybe it’ll help?”

“It would help more to know I wasn’t. That in the end he didn’t approve of everything I did - that I wasn’t really the perfect little pawn he wanted me to be. Maybe I can find some sort of retribution through that, somehow.”

“If you find it, you let me know.”

Faith hid a smile as she watched John watch the Deputy, the look on his face one she both recognised and found so very foreign.

“I think you already have. I’m going to move on. You should too, when you can.”

“I can’t yet. I have business to take care of.”

She laughed, “I can tell. But don’t stay for too long - it won’t do either of you any good. Goodbye, John.”

“Goodbye, Faith.”

“It’s Rachel,” she said, her ethereal, glowy spirit slowly breaking away as - what John could really only describe as - butterflied made of light flew away.

And John was the melodramatic one.

“Goodbye, Rachel.”

Rook was crying. Over Faith.

Hunched on the river bank, the shock made way for hideous, inhumane sounds to escape her. John had never seen her like this.

Rook didn’t break down. She smiled and laughed and snickered and joked. She was emotionally invincible, even if each bullet drew blood. At death’s door, Rook would find a way to make light of the situation.

The way she held onto herself - as if to keep the pieces of herself from breaking away - John’s stomach was in tight knots as he knelt beside her. Touching Rook never worked out well, but he was so overcome with the urge to hug her, hold her close, keep her away from the cruelty of the world - of the cruelty she had to impart. 

She cracked and broke and pathetic sounds escaped her. John found that this was probably one of the worst things that ever happened to him - and he had a list.

Rook was babbling, apologising over and over again until her voice went hoarse. She didn’t want to kill them - didn’t want to kill anyone. She said she was tired, she said she didn’t want to do it anymore but she would have to. Again and again. She took Faith’s name, John’s, members of the cult whose names she learnt. Jacob’s. Even Joseph’s. 

Rook wasn’t thinking straight. And John was growing fearful with each haggard scream she let out. He wasn’t supposed to witness this - _any_ of this.

“I’m so sorry-” her voice broke and she didn’t speak for a long time. She stayed hunched over, her forehead pressed against the wet bank of the river, hands digging into the dirt by her side. 

And then it was over.

Like a switch had been flipped, she slowly rose. Her eyes were bloodshot, the skin around it puffy and red. Her face was ruddy and dirty with soil and blood. Rook looked miserable.

It was amazing to see how she sniffled and shuffled forward, dunking her head into the river with such force John almost jerked into action. 

If she was trying to kill herself, that was certainly one way to go about it. 

But she lifted her head out a moment later, gasping for air.

She cupped the river water in her hands and scrubbed at her face. And with every vigorous, rigorous, borderline painful scrub of her face, John could almost _see_ her putting her armor back on.

Her shoulders were set back into that confident push. Her body relaxed. Her mouth moved up from an aggravated frown into a thin, straight, proud line. And the hollow look in her eyes disappeared, masked almost completely. 

The wreck he had seen just moments before became the Deputy of Hope County.

Her radio went off. It was Earl Whitehorse. He needed rescuing.

**~ * ~**

“She’s one of the best soldiers I’ve ever seen. Shame she wasn't on our side. Could have taken over this County ages ago.”

“She’s certainly a sight to behold, but I’ll take credit for keeping her alive up until now. She’s as suicidal as she is skilled and if it weren’t for me, she’d have died ages ago.”

Jacob grinned over at his baby brother. His scars were gone and his skin was clear. His eyes - so warm and kind - were like how they had been years ago in John’s fleeting memories of childhood before the Duncans. A lump formed in his throat when he realised what was to come.

“Any particular reason she’s cradling my body like that?”

John and Jacob watched as Rook cried over his corpse. The blood from one of her newest cuts (courtesy of Jacob’s warning shot at the beginning of the fight) dripped down her cheek and onto his ruined military jacket.

Rook was broken again.

John hated seeing her like this. When she awoke to find the massacre in the Wolf’s Den - John thought she really had cracked. But no, she kept it together just long enough to murder his brother and now she finally allowed herself to grieve. For everything. Even them.

“She didn’t want any of this.”

Jacob scoffed, “None of us did. It was thrust onto all of us.”

“No, Jacob. I mean she _really_ didn’t. Do you know she apologizes after every single life she takes? Animal or human? She had a breakdown in her car once because she ran over a deer. Rook wasn’t made for this.”

“Rook, huh?”

John didn’t reply. Couldn’t. It had been a conscious decision to call her that. Up until then, removing her from her persona of ‘Deputy of Hope County’ had been difficult. But he saw her flaws now, and saw how human she really was.

“I’m going to protect her,” John said after a moment, “I’ll be honest, I wanted to kill her when I started off. But now it’s - I can’t. She needs me, Jacob. She can’t carry on like this.”

“I hear you.”

“Do you think it’s wrong? She killed me. Killed Fai- _Rachel_. She just killed _you_. Is it - I don’t know - is it traitorous? Am I stabbing Joseph in the back the longer I keep her alive?”

Jacob sighed and brought his arm up - his scar free arm - and rubbed at the back of his neck. He looked so much younger without the ravages of war evident on him. He also looked conflicted.

He was more open with his emotions now, John realised. When he was alive it was all straight, sharp, hard discipline. Now he could see the lines in his skin as he furrowed his brow, the deep-set searching look in his eye, the frown that tugged freely down his face until it hid in his beard.

Jacob was finally free.

“I’m not ashamed of anything I did but I won’t lie to you. We weren’t good people, John. Far from it. The only one who kids himself otherwise is Joe. We were bad people and we should be thanking her for taking us out before we could damn our souls any further.”

“Then it’s fine? That I want to protect her?”

Jacob was starting to get hazy around the edges. John didn’t want his brother to leave - not when he could finally speak to him and not that spartan mask he put on for the world. The lump grew larger, harder. John’s eyes stung but he forced himself to keep his composure. 

Jacob noticed, of course, because he always did. He sent his baby brother an easy smile. John’s heart ached.

“I think that might be the first good decision you’ve made in a long time, John.”

Jacob put his hand behind John’s neck and brought them together until their foreheads were pressed together.

“Don’t take forever, okay? I’ll be waiting.”

A choked sound escaped him, “I won’t.”

John squeezed his eyes shut as his brother’s touch slowly vanished. Until he was left alone with Rook and his brother’s corpse. A wolf howled in the distance.

**~ * ~**

Rook stared down at her corpse. It was a weird feeling, wrong, eerie - like a school at night or an empty park or a hastily abandoned house or a - where was she going with this?

Sharky was shaking her shoulders vigorously, screaming at her to get up, begging her to. Grace, Hurk and Jess were doing their damndest to fight off the waves of Peggies while Nick and Addie provided air-support as best as they could. To no avail. Rook knew that if they didn’t leave immediately, they’d be killed too. At least her animals were safe back in Fall’s End with Jerome.

Rook couldn’t believe it was because of a ricocheting bullet. Of all the goddamned things to kill her, it was an accident. It was cruel, that’s what it was. If she was going to die, why couldn’t she have died a poetic death? A hero’s death?

Was it because of all the lives she took? Was this cosmic retribution? That Rook wasn’t the hero she kept telling herself that she was? That in the end, she wasn’t really all that special? 

“You know, staring won’t bring you back.”

Rook whirled around, eyes narrowed, her hand drifting towards the throwing knife that wasn’t there. In her shock, Rook only just realised that she didn’t even have any of her weapons. 

John Seed stood to her left, arms crossed and a smug look on his face. He was in his expensive blue shirt and expensive black vest and even more expensive jacket with the little planes. He looked far more healthy and alive than the last time Rook had seen him: very dead on the mountainside.

She swallowed harshly.

“John?”

“That is my name, yes. We meet again, Rook.”

Her eyes widened. Grace yelled out a command and her group ran, leaving her body behind. Rook didn’t mind, was glad for it. It was the smart thing to do and her body was of no use anyways.

“I really am dead, aren’t I?”

“You really are. Or maybe you aren’t and everyone in this whole County has been playing an awful prank on me for a better part of this year.”

Her brows furrowed, unable to follow.

“What?”

“Nothing. So, are you ready to go?”

“W- I’m not going anywhere with you, _Seed_.”

Rook lowered herself into a fighting stance. If she didn’t have her weapons, she’d improvise. Besides, John may be great in a plane, but his physique was shit - she could take him down with ease.”

“Calm down. And what’s with the stance? Is that how you’re going to thank the person who saved your life _countless_ times?”

Rook didn’t move. What was he talking about?

He saw her expression and sighed.

“You might recall a conversation you had with Boshaw a while back about guardian angels. Well, tada,” he waved his hands in a mock approximation of jazz hands, “That was me. Your very own vengeful guardian angel.”

“What are you - wait, _vengeful_?”

John shrugged, “That was temporary. Or technically maybe never. Anyway, that doesn't matter. The point is, you’re dead and I have spent far too long making sure you weren’t. So if you don’t have anything else to do - which, trust me, you don’t - we can finally leave.”

Rook’s mouth fell open.

John sighed.

“Can we have this conversation on the way? Jacob’s been waiting for months now and I do want to make sure Joseph hasn’t committed too many war crimes to bar his admittance. Maybe I can fight the legal system. Do you think there’s a lega; system? Or at least one I can contest against? My whole degree would be an absolute waste if there wasn’t - even if I did specialize in property.”

John was speaking so fast and his eyes were so bright. Not with the mania they so often held when he had been alive. But something nicer, softer. Kinder. Happy, he was actually happy.

Rook could only look at him.

“I’m sorry, I’m babbling - God, I’m worse than Sharky Boshaw. It just got very lonely when no one would reply back, Rook, let me tell you. I want to say I was eager for you to die so I’d have _someone_ to talk to, but that isn’t true because I _really_ didn’t want you to. Funny how it works, isn’t it?”

“Are you telling me you’ve been here the whole time?”

“The whole time,” John said with a nod. His smile mellowing out into something almost sad. He added as a thought, “Through everything. Even the worst of it.”

“And now what?”

“Now? Now we are probably going to disappear into butterflies or orbs of light or dust or whatever you fancy into the next stage or whatever this is. Don’t quote me though, I’m pretty new to this too, despite having been a ghost for months.”

“And my friends?’

John shrugged, “Will continue to live until they die when they have to. Trust me, when Fate wants to kill you, it will kill you. You know, I misdirected three grenades and a flaming arrow aimed straight at your heart and you _still_ got killed by a stray bullet. A _stray_ bullet. I’m cleaning my hands of any responsibility. I did my best and you still died. Which, I guess in the end is great for me. So if you’re done gaping, we can get a move on.”

“I-”

“Stop talking and just follow me.”

“But-”

“Rook. I’ve seen you struggle and strive and fight and win for almost a year. And I know you’ve been fighting for even longer. You’ve done your bit.” John held his hand out, “You can rest now.”

Rook stared at his outstretched hand, at the earnest look in his eyes. Once, while idly fantasizing about things that would never be, she imagined what it would be like to have someone stare at her with such adoration, such honesty. And here he was. 

She didn’t know why she thought of that just then. Or why John’s eyes looked very pretty, when they were crinkled up in a happy smile.

“It was you, who saved me that day in the forest?” She asked quietly. That moment had puzzled her so much. Snakes and rocks couldn’t fly, but they had then. And something had driven her to survive. 

John nodded.

“And you were then when I - when Jacob?” She couldn’t finish.

John nodded again. His hand still outstretched.

“And all those times the bullets should have hit me but didn’t?”

John laughed. He had a nice laugh, when it wasn’t punctuated with a spot of idle torture.

God, what was happening to her?

“You’re very slow, Rook, but I’ll forgive you since you’re probably still in shock. That was all me. All of it. The random bumps in the night. The deer you would try to hunt and I would spook away. The invisible thing your pet cougar would stare and growl at. Those times knives were so close to hitting you but _just_ missed. It was all me.”

Rook looked at his hand again.

“Why?” She whispered, “Why did you do any of that?”

“Turns out there is a very fine line between love and hate. I had just mistaken which side I was on. Or something along those lines - I’m not completely sure myself if I’m honest.”

“What, you scar everyone you fancy?”

“Only the really annoying ones,” he winked.

John hadn’t lowered his hand. Rook worried her lip. This was all just so _strange_. She was completely out of her comfort zone. Must have come with dying.

“Will it really be over?”

“I don’t know,” John said, “But Jacob and Rachel seemed happy to go, so I think it should be fine.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Whatever happens, we’ll get through it together.”

“Together?” she asked, unable to hide the stain of disbelief.

His eyes warmed and he took a step closer. He reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. His hand was so warm for a dead guy.

“We’ve been doing it together this long. I wouldn’t abandon you just yet. Not after all the time I’ve put into you.” He teased. And then his expression became one Rook had never seen before. “Not when I’ve finally gotten you.”

He offered her his hand again.

Rook took it. It was warm and solid and _real_.

“Together,” she whispered.

John surged closer and kissed her.

And Rook? She kissed him right back.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, what'd you guys think? It wasn't as romantic as I'd like, but then again, romance doesn't come easy to me.
> 
> But it's as romantic as a dead guy and a girl who can't hear him is going to get. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
